The calm arrived.
I prayed, begged, cried, screamed for the serenity to settle with grace.
And let me tell you,
That is not to say I have been calm across the board.
No no no.
I had lists of things I hoped to accomplish.
They were too long.
My children are growing and with that so is their ability to harm themselves and others.
I scream a little too much and lose my patience when it is unnecessary.
I fall short of this ideal that I for some reason believe I should be.
Inaccurate! I am doing everything I can.
I hold resentments on my body for getting tired.
I need to learn kindness towards the most important person.
I stood making eggs with my daughter on Saturday morning. My mind drifted to the weekend before. The blissful ignorance of what that day would become. I could feel my chest tightening. My breaths shallow. The warmth building in my bottom eyelids.
Then suddenly a flood of memories of my father. I can honestly say he eats eggs everyday.
I laughed to myself. Looking to Izzy and thinking of the numerous weekends I would sit and “help” him make eggs. How he always whisked them perfectly. (I think I live up to that tradition lol it’s a simple task but a very vivid memory) Randomly he would add new meats, veggies, and cheeses to these sacred eggs. Oh and that one shredded jerky type stuff! Oh my god so good. For the longest time he would make fries eggs in this camping pan. That thing was beat to shit but he loved it. Such a creature of habit. A smile came over my face as if the universe was whispering “be gentle to yourself”
I thought of West Dundee and how my Dad made me breakfast before school, I believe every morning for awhile. This for me is strange as my mind has created blackouts for most of my childhood and adolescence. Really for most of life it is difficult to remember anything.
In the past year I have been in Illinois I have spent lots of time at my Dad’s with my children. I hope they hold on to those memories of Papa cooking in the kitchen. His most comfortable place. I hope it floods them with all the laughs, adventures, and quiet moments they were blessed to receive with their Papa and Nonna. I feel lucky to be able to foster relationships like these between them and all of their family members.
I tossed the tomato, onion, chicken, and butter into the pan. “Hot! Eggs hot Mama!” Izzy yells.
I still go to my Dad’s house and receive eggs in the morning. Honestly it’s one of my most favorite things in the world. A constant when I have had nothing to grab onto in this endless ocean I exist in. As I have been thinking and rethinking if I ever had a home I was blessed to grasp that my home has never been a place but it has become people.
That overwhelming gratitude of how far my father and I have come in our relationship. I once felt like I could not be me with my own Dad. That is no longer the case. I don’t know what I would do without his unending support throughout all the trials and tribulations thrown at me or I have caused all on my own. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t go to his house and have eggs with him, my step mother, and my children. This is family. It’s ok to have family. I am not a lone wolf, as much as my head loves to reiterate this misconception.
I am grateful for this memory of eggs with Izzy